


Sweet Understanding

by amscray_punk



Series: Four Sundays [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, First Dates, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, god please don't make me tag everything, ope i did it, sexy time in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: Race takes Spot out on their first date. Set immediately after Four Sundays.*Chapter one is rated T; nothing inappropriate there. Chapter two is where the E rating comes in and this time.. I'm pretty sure E is the right one, not M. Proceed at your own risk.**I have decided to group all stories in this universe into a single series, because I do have a few more ideas for these two ;)
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Four Sundays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838668
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	1. Somewhere That's Green

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned this in the summary but just wanna be very clear: this chapter is rated T, even though the work's rating is E. That's for chapter two. So, if you'd rather avoid that part, now you know. Chapter two is almost done, just putting the finishing touches on it. Should be up tonight or tomorrow. Ok, enjoy! :)

Race felt like he was running in overdrive.

After he’d gathered the courage to tell Spot how he felt, and received the best response he could’ve imagined, he’d set to work planning their first date. He and Jack had joked about it, weeks ago, when he was first laid up with a sprained ankle. But now it was real. Now he really had to plan something, and quick; their first date was that very evening. Spot had told him he’d be off work at 6pm, and that he could be ready half an hour later. That gave Race the entire afternoon to plan, after he’d fulfilled his brotherly duties and visited his sister and newest nephew.

He’d gone straight home from the hospital, gushing to Jack over what had happened. Race was floating on air, head spinning with possibility. But then Jack brought him back down to earth.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I…” Race’s mouth stayed open for a moment before falling shut, concern etching its way across his features. What _was_ the plan? He cursed his impulsive nature. Spot hadn’t really given him any indication of the kinds of things he was interested in, as far as dates go. And, if he were honest, it had been a while since Race had had anything beyond a casual hookup. Planning a date – and not just any date, a date worthy of _Spot Conlon_ – suddenly seemed incredibly daunting. Panic bloomed in his chest, threatening to spread through his limbs before he felt a sturdy grasp on his shoulder; Jack was in front of him, trying to catch his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, more softly than Race would have expected; this seemed like a prime opportunity for Jack’s patented ribbing. Race focused on his breathing as he leaned into the comforting touch. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? We’ve got, what, five hours?” Race nodded, chewing his lower lip in concentration. “Plenty of time. Why don’t you text him and see if you can get an idea of what he’s into?”

“Good idea,” Race murmured, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. Halfway through typing the text, though, he stopped, letting his hands drop to his sides as he reconsidered. No one wanted to be asked out on a date only to promptly be asked what they wanted to _do_ on said date. He was just going to have to work with what he had: a few hours, imagination and all of New York City (albeit on a Sunday night) laid before him. Jack was watching him expectantly, eyebrows raised. Race drew himself up to his full height, shoulders back and chin lifted. “Y’know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

Jack stepped back, hands in the air and a small smile on his face. “If you say so, Racer. Lemme know if you change your mind. In the meantime…” he trailed off, pulling out his own phone and sending a text. “I’ll make plans with Katherine tonight so you can have the apartment, if ya want.” He finished, waggling his eyebrows for effect. Race pointedly ignored him, walking past him to set up in the living room so he could brainstorm.

Dinner and a movie was too cliché; but then, there was something to be said for the classics. Race created a note on his phone and began listing ideas. A moment later he read through them, mumbling his thoughts.

“Dinner and a movie, lame, but a solid last resort. Karaoke? God, no, forget I even thought of that. Head out of the city to look at the stars? …Too much for a first date, plus there’s the issue where I don’t have a _car_ ,” he sighed, sitting back and running a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He was beginning to feel the panic from before creeping back in before he was startled by the sound of his stomach, grumbling loudly. He pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the kitchen, picking through the fridge until he found some leftover pizza, which he chewed distractedly as his brain worked. He pulled out his phone to scroll through Instagram, navigating to Spot’s profile first, as was becoming his habit. After a moment of ogling, he clicked back to his feed and scrolled, letting his mind wander. Suddenly, he stopped, the gears in his head beginning to spin in a direction that actually made sense.

_Brilliant._

Race waited outside Jacobi’s at 6:30 on the dot, as they’d agreed, taking occasional sips from a cup of coffee that he didn’t really need. The adrenaline had been hitting him on and off all afternoon whenever he’d remember he had plans with Spot. His other hand was freezing as it held a large iced mocha with extra shots and extra whipped cream; he was sure Spot could use the caffeine boost after a long day. As he checked his watch to see the time change to 6:31, a now-familiar, raspy voice startled him.

“Hey Racer,”

His head whipped around, face breaking into a smile at the sight of Spot sauntering up to him on the sidewalk. He looked impossibly good, dressed in jeans and a simple black polo that showed off his physique and perfectly toed the line between casual and dressy, just as Race had instructed. He glanced a little nervously down at his own outfit, a soft, fitted short-sleeve button-up and skinny jeans with the cuffs turned up; he noticed Spot looking too and was suddenly glad he’d taken Jack’s advice to leave the top couple of buttons undone.

“Hey,” Race greeted him, somehow surprised by the breathy quality of his voice. He really was never going to get used to the effect this man had on him. As Spot gratefully accepted the coffee, he came close enough that Race caught a whiff of his cologne; his knees felt the slightest bit weak, for a moment. Suddenly, he realized he was staring – and even though Spot was looking back with those sparkling eyes, he felt the familiar heat begin to creep up the back of his neck. He quickly finished off his coffee, tossed it in the nearest trash can and turned back to Spot. “You ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

Grinning, Race reached for Spot’s hand, which he readily gave. “It’s a surprise.”

A short walk later, Race stopped in front of a small, rundown-looking theatre. The marquee advertised a performance of _Little Shop of Horrors_ , slated for 7pm that evening. He checked his watch; they had arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. Race had to admit he was nervous to see Spot’s reaction. It was a bit of a shot in the dark, bringing him here, but Race figured it had to be better than the typical dinner-and-movie date. Plus, one of Race’s friends from the studio was in the production and had managed to snag him last-minute tickets in exchange for a future (as yet undetermined) favor. He recognized the step he was taking, inviting Spot into this corner of his world on the first date, but he could think of no better introduction than the sweet (although, yes, homicidal) silliness of _Little Shop of Horrors._ He peeked out the corner of his eye, butterflies beginning to flutter in his stomach.

Spot was looking at the marquee, his eyes unreadable. Race thought he looked a little nervous and the butterflies began to move in earnest as he wondered if he’d made a mistake. He nudged Spot gently with his elbow.

“Whaddaya think?”

“I’ve, uh,” Spot hesitated, eyes shifting to focus on Race. “I’ve never actually been inside a theatre before.”

Race’s jaw dropped; he couldn’t even think of anything to say. He’d assumed that Spot was, like most people, probably not a theatre enthusiast like himself. But to have lived your entire life in New York and _never_ set foot in a theatre? Race couldn’t fathom it. Spot laughed at his expression, one hand running through his hair at the back.

“I know, I know,” He finished his drink and threw it away. “But I’m always up for new things. No time like the present, right?”

“Right.” Race beamed, relief flooding through him as he reached for Spot’s hand again. “Let’s go in.”

“What’s it about?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Race watched Spot out of the corner of his eye during the show, sometimes not even bothering to pretend to look at the stage. Spot laughed at all the right times, moved unconsciously to the catchy songs, looked bewildered when warranted and Race could have sworn he was misty-eyed at the end. Although, it was a little hard to tell for sure, considering the way his dark eyes seemed to reflect light at all times. But the thing that Race would always remember most from this part of the night was that Spot didn’t let go of his hand through the entire show.

They exited the theatre onto the sidewalk, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the darkness; it had still been light out when they’d gone in. Race sneaked a glance at his watch, happy to see it was only just after nine. He squeezed Spot’s hand, still in his.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“C’mon, I know a place.”

He led Spot away from the theatre and down a few streets, coming to an old-timey twenty-four-hour diner, complete with a checkerboard floor and a dining counter with stools. Race slid into a booth by the window, looking right at home as he reached for a couple of laminated menus, passing one across the table to Spot.

“Everything’s good here, you can’t go wrong,” he explained as he skimmed the menu, trying to decide what to order. Medda’s served your typical diner fare, burgers, sandwiches, and all-day breakfast.

“So what’d you think of the show?” Race asked after the server had taken their drink order; an iced tea for Race and a chocolate shake for Spot. He’d grinned when Spot had ordered it. _Sweet tooth._

“It was…” Spot trailed off, mouth slightly open as he tried to find the words. “Unreal. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“So you liked it?” Race was hesitant, nervously thumbing the corner of the menu he had memorized.

“I loved it,” Spot replied enthusiastically, reaching across the table to brush his fingers against the back of Race’s hand. Instinctively, Race turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together sweetly. “Don’t get me wrong, it was absolutely _bizarre_ ,” he paused, laughing. “But it was also great. The music, the dancing, the costumes.” He shook his head, thumb brushing absently against Race’s. “Is the theatre always this much fun?”

Race wondered if he’d ever stop smiling this much around him. “Oh, yeah,” he answered, finally deciding on a grilled cheese and fries; smirking when Spot ordered French toast and sausage. “Wait ‘til I take you to see _Rocky Horror._ ”

“What’s that?”

Race nearly choked on his tea, coughing a few times into the crook of his elbow. “Sorry, what? You’ve never seen _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_?”

Spot shook his head as he took a slow slip of his shake, the motion momentarily redirecting Race’s gaze to his lips. “Haven’t even heard of it.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Race replied, giving him a sympathetic look. “You have so much to learn.”

Their food arrived quickly and they dug in; it was a bit late for them both to be eating dinner, but neither seemed in any hurry to leave once they’d finished. They chatted easily, Race filling him in on his visit with his sister and new baby nephew, Ethan. He told him about his other nephew, Ryan, Ethan’s older brother; he was three years old and he brought more unexpected joy to Race’s life than he could ever have imagined the day his sister had told him she was pregnant. They kept talking long after their plates had been cleared, each of them paying a quick visit to the men’s room – separately, of course. After all, Race liked to consider himself a gentleman. He tried to catch the server’s attention to bring the check, only to be stunned into silence when she returned and handed Spot a receipt, pen, and credit card.

“How’d you do that?” He asked incredulously. Spot only winked in response as he signed the receipt and slipped his card back into his wallet. Race couldn’t help himself. He peeked at the receipt, satisfaction warming his chest when he discovered Spot was a good tipper, to boot. He discreetly checked his watch; only eleven, still early. Unless…

“Do you have to work in the morning?” He asked as they walked back outside, hoping the question wasn’t too transparent. Although, he reasoned, he’d shown his hand already; there was no playing hard to get anymore. Race couldn’t bear the thought of possibly losing his chance with Spot because he hadn’t been clear enough about his intentions.

Spot shook his head as he reached for Race’s hand, sending a thrill through him at the contact. “Nope, I don’t work ‘til tomorrow afternoon. You?”

Race shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from their joined hands. He was still having trouble believing this was actually happening.

“So, what’s next?” Spot asked as he tugged Race a little closer to him. Truthfully, Race hadn’t planned anything after dinner, but he desperately wanted to keep Spot by his side. He tilted his head, looking sideways at him.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure,” Spot agreed, voice soft, smile softer. “But I don’t actually know where I am, so…” Race chuckled and pressed into his side, wrapping his other hand around Spot’s bicep as they began to walk.

“Don’t worry, I do.”

They fell into easy conversation as they strolled, and Race didn’t even try to hide how he was running his fingers over the defined muscles of Spot’s arm (he almost thought Spot had been subtly flexing, too). He was a little shocked at how seamlessly they shifted topics. Spot talked about growing up in Brooklyn with his little brother, Finn, who Race remembered from the Instagram pictures. He talked about his father, who’d died when he was a teen, and how it had impacted his life, for better and for worse. Race told him stories from his own childhood, about how his sister had been the one to introduce him to dance and theatre, how he blamed her for his claustrophobia because she’d once shoved him into a hamper and forgotten about him for several hours. They talked about sports; Spot vowed to turn Race into a football fan if it was the last thing he did. They talked about movies, which led them back to musicals and back to the show they’d seen earlier.

“Honestly, I’ll probably never get those songs out of my head,” Spot told him as they turned a corner. Race scarcely realized it was his own street, that he’d unintentionally walked them back to his apartment. “ _Suddenly, Seymour…_ ”

Race’s head snapped up, jaw dropping, eyes wide with wonder. Not only had Spot remembered the song after only hearing it once, his voice was _gorgeous._ “You can sing?” He was nearly breathless. Spot chuckled in response, squeezing Race a little tighter against him. “God, you’re perfect.” He mumbled, low enough that Spot couldn’t hear. Or so he thought.

Spot stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and Race was sure his heart stopped along with him. Had he really said that out loud? He barely had time to consider it before Spot gently moved him so that Race was in front of him, now. Spot's eyes roamed over his face and Race could feel his heart pounding as he looked back. Spot lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along the side of Race’s face, bringing it to rest just under his ear, cupping his jaw. Race unconsciously licked his lips, swallowing when he noticed those dark eyes hungrily following the motion. Spot leaned in; surely he was only a millimeter away but he was still too far for Race’s taste.

“Racer,” he breathed, fingers moving back to tangle in Race’s hair. “Can I kiss you?”

Race didn’t answer, just leaned forward, bringing his arms up to lock around Spot’s neck as he kissed him. This kiss was slow, sweet, hesitant; quite different from their moment in the elevator earlier that day. But it didn’t take long for Spot to slide his other hand down Race’s back, pushing him close against him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Race’s breath hitched when he felt Spot walk him backward, toward the apartment building he distantly recognized as his own. He felt his stomach flip when his shoulders hit the wall and Spot pressed him against it; he could feel the hard muscle of Spot’s abdomen against his and he nearly moaned out loud, instead making a soft noise in the back of his throat. Spot pulled back to look at him, one hand brushing blonde curls from his forehead. Race felt a little dizzy as he realized the needy look in Spot’s eyes was _his_ doing, they were focused on _him._ They were both panting slightly.

“Is this okay?” Spot whispered as they locked eyes.

“This is perfect,” Race replied as he pulled Spot back in, eyes fluttering closed as Spot responded eagerly, pressing him into the wall again. This time, there was no hesitancy, no sweetness, just unrestrained want as Race’s hands began to roam over Spot’s torso and chest, itching to get underneath that polo and feel his skin. Spot growled softly, sending a jolt through Race and this time he did moan, the sound swallowed by their frantic kiss. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest and he was beginning to contemplate the minimum penalty for indecent exposure when the door directly to his left suddenly swung open, startling them both. They sprang apart, breathing heavily. He could hardly focus on the sudden interruption, wanting desperately to ignore the stranger and pull Spot back to him.

“Hey, Doc!” The familiar voice grounded him as he looked sharply toward the sound. Jack may not have actually seen them, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they had been doing half a second prior. Spot seemed unable to speak as he lifted a hand in a weak greeting. Jack looked appropriately ashamed, at least, as he nodded to them, already beginning to back down the sidewalk. “Don’t mind me, I’m just heading out for the night. See ya tomorrow, Racer.” He winked and turned, hands in his pockets as he hurried away from them.

They stayed like that, a foot apart, for a moment. Race wanted nothing more than to grab the front of Spot’s shirt, drag him inside and never let him leave. But some rational part of him remembered this was actually their first date; Spot was not his boyfriend and it would be highly inappropriate for him to do so. _Right?_ He dared to look at Spot again, who, he noted happily, looked just as flustered as he felt, chest rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath. Spot swallowed hard, nodding toward the door.

“So, this is your place, I take it?”

Race huffed a laugh and leaned back against the wall, not missing the way Spot’s eyes roamed over him as he did. He felt incredibly hot and he lifted a hand, toying with a button on his shirt as he looked back. “Yeah, this is me.” He dropped his hand to his side, biting nervously at his lip. He couldn’t believe he was about to say it… “Do you wanna come in?”

The question was loaded, he knew. And judging by the way Spot’s eyes flashed and he sucked in a breath, he did too. He took a step toward Race, closing the distance between them and catching Race’s lips in another kiss. Too soon, he pulled back. “I do, I _really_ do,” he answered, desperation cracking his voice as he dropped his forehead against Race’s chest. Race could hear it coming. “But maybe… maybe I shouldn’t.” Perhaps he could feel Race tense, because he continued quickly, lacing his fingers through Race’s as he looked back up. “Because I like you, Racer. I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot, too,” Race breathed back, squeezing Spot’s hand, running his other hand up and over his chest. Spot hummed contentedly; Race could feel the vibration against his palm.

“I don’t wanna screw this up by moving too fast, y’know?”

Race nodded in response, his throat tight. He knew Spot was right. The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up, either. But he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed; he’d never felt like this before, like he couldn’t get enough of Spot, like he never wanted him to leave. Still, he nodded again, fingers drawing lazy patterns on the front of Spot’s shirt. “I know,” he whispered. “You’re right.”

They stayed like that another moment, inches away, eyes locked. Spot brushed his knuckles across Race’s cheekbone in a motion so tender it made Race’s heart ache. He waited and Spot leaned in one more time, the brush of his lips so soft, so gentle, it sent shivers through Race’s entire body. Although he knew it was coming, he couldn’t stop the quiet noise of protest that escaped him when Spot pulled back, taking his intoxicating heat with him. They were still nose to nose when Spot spoke again.

“I’ll call you,”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered quickly. “Tonight. Whenever you want, Racer. I’m yours.”

Race had a feeling that last bit had slipped out but he was infinitely glad for it as a comforting warmth spread through him. He leaned forward on his toes to steal one last kiss before Spot backed away for real, looking every bit as reluctant as Race felt letting him go. He pointed him in the direction of the subway and watched until he couldn’t make out his silhouette anymore, black shirt disappearing into the darkness.

Race unlocked the door to his dark apartment and threw himself on the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. His pulse was still racing; he wondered if that would ever stop. One minute ticked by, then another, and a third threatened before he made a frustrated noise and sat up, wrenching his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. He debated for only a second before he tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear; waited only a moment for the call to be picked up. His voice shook.

“Come back.”


	2. Tell Me This Feeling Lasts Til Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Spot finish their date.

Spot wouldn’t even have heard the call.

If he hadn’t already been reaching for his phone – which had been on silent and forgotten in his pocket since the theatre – to ask him if it was too late to change his mind, to ask him if he could still come in. He was going to say they didn’t even have to do anything, they could just hang out, watch the movie version of _Little Shop of Horrors_ that Race had mentioned _,_ or really, _anything_ Racer wanted to do because Spot just wanted to be near him. To say he was shocked to see a certain blonde smirking at him on the screen would be an understatement; his stomach dropped out when he put the phone to his ear.

“Come back.”

Racer sounded breathless, nervous – but he also sounded certain. So much so, in fact, that Spot didn’t even reply; he simply turned on his heel and walked as quickly as he could back in the direction he had come, hoping he was opening the right door to the right building, relief flooding through him when he saw Race’s head poke out of a door on the first floor, his face flushed but breaking into a smile at the sight of him.

He reached the door in what was surely record time and Race reached out to grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him inside and slamming the door behind him. He dragged Spot to the couch and pushed him down roughly so he landed in a seated position. Race’s mouth was on his within a second as he climbed on top of him, straddling him and Spot let out a surprised sound, hands gripping Race’s slim hips as he kissed him back greedily.

“Are you sure,” he managed to choke out when Race moved his mouth to Spot’s neck, making it hard to finish the question. “you don’t wanna wait?”

“Been waiting for weeks already,” Race murmured against his skin. Spot huffed a small laugh at that; he, too, felt as though he’d already been waiting long enough to get his hands on Racer. He had meant it, when he’d said he didn’t want to screw this up by moving too quickly, but Race had a rather convincing argument. Not to mention the fact that his brain was turning to mush as Race continued kissing down the side of his neck, pulling the collar of his shirt out of the way with a finger.

“Fuck,” Spot cursed, focusing on the feeling of Racer draped across his lap, hands roaming hungrily over his chest and torso. Race moved back up to kiss him again, tilting his head to the side to allow his tongue to move gently against Spot’s, a gasp escaping him when Spot unconsciously rolled his hips up. He felt Race’s hands move down, down his stomach and land at the hem of his shirt, tugging shyly as though asking for permission. Spot pulled back long enough to pull his shirt swiftly over his head, dropping it on the couch beside them. He looked up, searching for Racer’s eyes to see if this was still okay; immediately felt blood moving south when he recognized the obvious want turning those bright blue eyes dark and stormy as they roamed over his now naked chest. Race bit his lip, his touch maddeningly gentle as he ran his hands across the newly exposed skin. Spot could only pant as he watched in awe, hardly daring to believe his luck. _Racer._ Finally remembering he had hands, too, he reached up and began to unbutton Race’s shirt, as well as he could manage with trembling fingers. He slid it off his shoulders when he finished, drinking in the sight: Racer was so beautiful, so much better up close than on social media, so different than Spot. He was light where Spot was dark, slim where Spot was solid. His arms, long and toned but not bulky; his chest, strong but lean, rising and falling with his labored breath; his abs, each muscle clearly defined, made Spot’s mouth water as he looked. The words tumbled out without his permission.

“You’re gorgeous,” His voice sounded husky and desperate to his ears and he sucked in a breath, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. His worry subsided when Race moaned against his neck, sending a shock through him that made his hips buck. Race pressed down against him in response and the delicious friction made Spot’s head fall back against the couch, his eyes falling closed as he tried to keep up. “Shit, Racer, you feel so good.”

“I can make you feel better,” Race breathed into his ear as his hand trailed down Spot’s chest, not stopping until it reached the button of his jeans where it lingered, waiting.

“I- you-,” Spot stuttered as he lifted his head to look at Race, struggling to form coherent thought. “You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” Race cut him off, pulling back to look into Spot’s eyes. “If… if that’s okay with you.”

Spot huffed an incredulous laugh that was pitched higher than he’d intended. “If that’s okay with me? Racer,” he said seriously, gripping his hips. “ _Anything_ you want to do is okay with me. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I don’t,” Racer assured him quickly. He began to kiss down his neck again, making his way steadily lower. He pressed urgent kisses to his chest and sternum, along Spot’s abs as he deftly undid his jeans. He slid to the floor so he was on his knees and gently tugged Spot’s jeans down just far enough. Spot let out a sigh as he was relieved from the pressure, only to choke on air when Race wrapped a hand around him through his boxer briefs.

“Shit,” he hissed, head falling back again as Racer continued to kiss along his stomach, hovering just above the waistband of his underwear. He hardly had time to catch his breath before Race hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down. With one last devilish glance upward, Race took him fully into his mouth.

Spot’s hips bucked in response to the warm, wet heat surrounding him and he let out a groan; he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Racer moved against him, breathing through his nose as he bobbed, taking more of him each time. Spot’s hand wound into Race’s curls, not instructing him but holding on for dear life. He forced his eyes open, not wanting to miss this for the world. The sheer beauty of the image stunned Spot into silence for a moment; Racer, shirtless on his knees, flush high on his cheeks, one hand roaming over Spot’s upper body as he focused on pleasing him with his mouth. As he watched, Race let out a sinful moan that forced a shudder through Spot’s body from the vibrations, tearing a desperate sound from his throat that seemed to spur Race on even more. He quickened his pace and Spot cursed again.

“Racer, _shit,_ Race,” Spot was pinned in place by the sheer pleasure coursing through him. “I-I’m, fuck, I’m gonna-“ He could already feel his release approaching and he tried to pull back. Race’s hands flew to his hips and he held them down, making sure Spot couldn’t move. He grabbed his dick with one hand and pulled off so that his lips just brushed against the head.

“It’s okay,” He pressed soft kisses there now, looking up through his lashes at Spot, who watched with a dazed expression. Spot thought his heart might stop as Race licked slowly up the underside, swirling his tongue around the head before pulling off again. “I want you to.”

“Are you s-“ Spot’s question cut off in a strangled moan as Racer answered by taking all of him at once. In all his wildest dreams, he could never have imagined the night would end up like this. But God, was he glad it had. He could feel the back of Race’s throat and that was all it took to send him over the edge, hips bucking as he trembled with the force of his release. “ _Fuck,_ Tony,” Race’s real name slipped out before he realized it and Race hummed happily in response, making Spot’s hips twitch once more before he stilled, gasping for breath. Race hollowed his cheeks around him as he pulled off, drawing one last desperate sound from Spot.

Race gave him a moment to recover before he tugged Spot’s underwear and jeans back up, fastening them carefully. He kissed his way back up Spot’s chest, moving to straddle him again as the living room came back into view. “You,” Spot could hardly think, hardly speak as he slipped a hand back into Racer’s hair, guiding his face back down to meet his as he crushed their mouths together. Race responded in kind and Spot could feel him smiling against his lips. He pulled back and looked into Race’s bright eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. “You are incredible.”

Spot ran his hands down Racer’s toned torso appreciatively, one eyebrow lifting in question when he reached his jeans and discovered they were already undone, hanging off of one hip, boxer briefs slightly askew. He looked up through his lashes at Race.

“Get a head start, did ya?”

Race shrugged one shoulder, giving him a coy smile. “Can you blame me?”

The breathy quality of Race’s voice stirred something in Spot and he made a snap decision. He slid his hands under Race’s thighs, pinning his legs against his sides as he stood up, holding his weight easily. Race gasped in surprise, arms locking around Spot’s neck. Spot ducked, nipping at Race’s neck, living for the wanton sound Race made in response. He made his way to the closest wall and pressed Race against it; Race gasped when his back hit the cold surface but Spot swallowed the noise as he kissed him urgently. Race kissed him back for a moment before he pulled back, seemingly unable to function as he dropped his head back against the wall, looking up at Spot through half-closed eyes. Spot nudged his nose up Race’s neck and pressed his lips to his ear, pitching his voice low. “Where’s your room?”

“Upstairs,” was all Race could say as he jerked his head toward the second floor. Spot carried him effortlessly, following Race’s halfhearted directions until he found the right room. He strode quickly to Race’s bed and laid him down gently, crawling on top of him immediately, catching his lips in a searing kiss that went on and on. Spot’s only focus now was on making Racer feel as good as possible, so he took his time taking him apart. He pressed soft kisses down his front, beginning at the collarbone and moving down his chest, as Race had done to him, teasing each nipple with his tongue before biting down softly, causing Race to arch up into him each time. His need was obvious as it pressed against his underwear and Spot reached down to grasp him, drawing a positively filthy string of curses from Race. Spot smirked; he should have known Race would be vocal in bed. He moved slowly, kissing each one of Race’s ab muscles, letting out a soft groan when Race’s hand threaded into his hair and tugged.

He pulled Racer’s jeans and underwear off in one go and climbed back up, nipping at his collarbone. Race was writhing beneath him.

“Spot, fuck,” he pleaded as Spot reached down again, groping his balls. He was rewarded with a breathy moan that cut off in a gasp as Spot’s fingers accidentally brushed against that most sensitive area. Spot stopped moving and pulled back to look at him. _God, he’s beautiful._ Race was laid out underneath him, face flushed, eyes glazed and hair mussed, breathing heavily. Experimentally, he dropped his hand again, reaching his fingers back to graze that spot more deliberately. Race’s eyes rolled back as he groaned, arching up into Spot involuntarily. Spot ducked down to Racer’s neck again.

“You like that, huh?” Spot murmured against his skin, moving his hand up to wrap firmly around Race. Race’s hips bucked; he could only moan in response as Spot began to move his hand slowly up and down. He tortured him like that for a moment, his pace agonizing as Race struggled to breathe. He nipped at his earlobe. “You didn’t answer me.”

“Y-Yes,” Race choked out, bringing his hands up Spot’s back to rest on his shoulder blades, digging his nails in lightly. “Yes, I do, but you don’t have to-“

“I want to,” Spot said, echoing Race’s earlier sentiments. “If you want.” He watched Race carefully, looking for any sign of hesitancy and finding none as he nodded enthusiastically, apparently incapable of speaking. Spot pressed a reassuring kiss to Race’s lips before attacking his neck again, hand still moving steadily. “Do you have lube?”

“Do I have-“ Race laughed a little as he reached one hand over to his bedside table and opened the drawer, as well as he could with Spot still slowly jerking him off. He fumbled around for a moment before producing a small bottle of clear liquid, shaking slightly as he handed it to Spot. Spot shifted so that one of Racer’s legs was between his knees as he knelt. He spared a moment to just look at Race, spread out on the bed, panting desperately, eyes flooded with desire. He quickly popped the cap and spread the lube on his fingers, leaning back over Race and supporting his weight with one hand. He focused on Racer’s face. Carefully, he pressed one finger inside, causing Race to gasp, his head falling back against his pillows as his eyes fluttered shut. He pumped slowly, in and out, for a moment, just watching Race as he groaned. Spot was absolutely certain that nothing could be more exquisite than this sight. Race lifted a hand to bite down on his knuckle, presumably to stifle his moans but Spot caught his wrist and pulled it away, pinning it to the bed as he leaned over Race to speak in his ear.

“No, I wanna hear you,”

“Oh God,” Race panted. “Spot, I-“

Without warning, Spot added a second finger, drawing another obscene moan from Race. “That’s it, just like that, you’re so gorgeous, Racer.”

“ _Fuck,_ Spotty,” Race whined, hands tangling in his own hair as he squirmed. “More, _please,_ more- ahh, Jesus,” His plea was cut off as Spot added a third finger, curling them slightly, rewarded with the most uninhibited sound Race had made yet. He sat back on his knees as he pumped his hand, watching in awe as Race came apart at the seams, nothing intelligible coming out of his mouth as he writhed on the bed. “Sean, please, I’m so-“

“I know, I’ve got you,” Spot said softly, trailing his other hand down Racer’s front at an excruciatingly slow pace as he continued to pump his fingers. Race gasped as Spot finally reached his destination, wrapping his fingers around Racer’s cock and tugging roughly once, twice, three times until Race arched his back and came with a cry, curses mixed with Spot’s name tumbling from his lips. Spot bit his lip as he watched, entranced by the sight. All he could think of at that moment was seeing that again and again, every day and night for as long as Race would have him. He stroked Race’s side softly as he came back to himself, breathing beginning to even out. He leaned down and dropped a featherlight kiss to Race’s forehead before he pushed off the bed, heading to the bathroom to clean his hands. He brought Race a towel, which he caught gratefully, sitting up to clean himself off. He picked up Race’s underwear and handed them to him before he climbed back onto the bed, lying on one side and propping his head up with his hand as he watched Racer collect himself. After a moment, Race laid down so he was facing Spot, mirroring his position.

“That was…” he trailed off, settling instead for a low whistle, which made them both smile. He leaned forward to peck Spot’s lips. “Amazing.” He finished.

“To say the least,” Spot agreed, bringing his free hand up to brush Race’s cheekbone. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of his watch, startled to realize it was well past midnight. Race either read his mind or saw him look, because when he spoke, his voice was soft and a little nervous.

“Spotty,”

A warm rush of affection ran through Spot at that; one day and Race already had his own nickname for him. He _loved_ it.

“Yes?”

“Can you stay?”

Spot smiled, heart warmed by how unsure Race sounded. How could he be unsure right now? After what they'd just done, and how eagerly Spot had come running when he had called? Surely Race would realize soon enough that Spot would do just about anything he asked. Wanting nothing more than to soothe his nerves, Spot leaned forward and kissed him, softly but with purpose, trying to convey every one of his feelings with just the touch of his lips. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that their noses still touched.

“Do you want me to?”

“Oh, hell yes,” Race responded, blushing a bit as he grinned and clarified. “I mean, yes. Please.”

“Then I will,” Spot replied, tilting his head. “Although, I should warn you,” He paused, smirking as one of Race’s eyebrows shot up questioningly. “I sleep in my underwear and nothing else. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”

“Well, what kind of host would I be to deny you your comfort?” Race answered, his playful nature beginning to shine through again as Spot slipped out of his jeans and under the covers. He reached out and pulled Race close, sighing contentedly when Race curled into him. Amazed at how naturally his arms encircled Race, how perfectly his head fit against his chest, and how drowsy he suddenly was, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Race’s head as his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but at that moment, he felt more at home than he could ever remember feeling before; there was something so comforting about his presence. Soon, the rhythmic sound of Race’s soft breath lulled him to a deep sleep.

In the morning, Spot awoke to the tantalizing smell of homemade French toast.


End file.
